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Thursday, June 20th - Utrecht to Antwerp, 5448 km
The entire van Veen family is out the door by 8 am so I leave with them, which guarantees an early start. There are warm but hurried goodbyes all around. On his way to school, Denis leads me to the bike path that leads south from Houten. In spite of this, I get hopelessly lost on more unmarked trail in another satellite suburb and again a few kilometres before the city of Breda.
In fact, I am lost four times before Breda, the last time because the bike path has been severed for sewer pipe work and there is no detour. I am forced to take the road as the Dutch drivers glare and honk at me indignantly. With a system of bike paths as big as theirs, they cannot tolerate bike sharing the road, even if the bike paths snake around inefficiently, are uneven, not signed in places and blocked or torn up without a replacement route. The bike paths in Holland are placed below the dikes for wind 
protection wherever possible, so there isn't much to sight-seeing anyway. The water in the rivers is often higher than the land. At one point I see a freighter passing quite high above me. Once I find Breda, the highway shoots straight towards Antwerp just over the Belgian
border. Antwerp ('Anvers' in French) is Belgium's second largest city, but I see no signs directing me towards the centre of town once I arrive. I get directions from an enthusiastic fireman who shows me both the way to downtown and the post office, and to the suburb of Duerne, where my next host, Frank Williamsen lives. 
Rush hour traffic is mostly over by the time I ride into the centre. I take the time to photograph Grote Markt with the famous statue of Brabo throwing the hand of the giant named Druon Antigoon into the river, as well as some of the other historic attractions. The post office is beside Central Station. The only note waiting for me at the post office is one from Frank giving me directions to his place. He says his phone is presently disconnected but I should buzz him when I arrive.
It begins to rain heavily on the way to Duerne and I am soaked when I arrive. I buzz his apartment but he is not there. I wait. And wait. People come and go, some matching Frank's description, but they ignore me as they pass. A man, dark haired, 30-ish and stunningly attractive, greets me warmly as he goes by. If only that was Frank, I think lustfully to myself. I see another arriving who appears to match Frank’s description, a 40-ish gay man, blond with a moustache. Lights appear on the third floor shortly after he passes but no one answers the intercom. A young woman arriving home asks if I am waiting for someone. I explain who I am waiting for and she tells me the lights I see are from Frank's apartment. She is concerned about my situation and tells me to buzz her apartment if I need assistance. I buzz again and Frank answers. I ask if he can come down and help me with my bags and he says he will be right down. I clean my bike as I wait. About five minutes later, the blond, 40-ish man with a moustache comes out the door, arms filled with bags of rubbish. He walks right by without looking at me. I am sure that is Frank. I assume that he will come back, having disposed of the garbage, and help me up to his apartment, but instead he gets into his car and drives away. His apartment is now dark.
It doesn’t take anything huge to demonstrate how cruel and selfish some people can be. I am left flabbergasted, hovering in disbelief at the entranceway. I suspect Frank, having seen that I am not so cute when soaking wet, decided I am not worth
hosting. On occasion, I have seen the when I was trying to meet gays through newspaper ads or phone cruising lines. They would invited me over and then refused to answer the door for unknown reasons. To some guys, other gays are just consumable commodities, but I cannot imagine someone treating an invited guest this way where sex is not part of the agreement. Just to be sure, I buzz his apartment again. There is no answer. I decide to take the woman up on her offer and use her phone to call a youth hostel. I lock my bike and bags behind the lobby stairs and climb to the same third floor where Frank’s apartment is. The woman answers the door and ushers me in warmly. ‘I’m Marie France,’ she says, ‘and this is my husband Sam.’ Sam is the gorgeous young man I lusted over on his way in half an hour before. He locks eyes with me. He has a smile on his face that is coming straight from his heart. I feel my heart start to pound and a rush of blood in my cheeks.
Sam and Marie-France run a flower shop they have owned for three years. I love flowers. They say their profits are still low and the work hours long, but they are still excited about owning their own business. As I listen, I have a deeper appreciation of how beautiful both of them are.
The youth hostel is full. Sam tries to reassure me. He knows there are several inexpensive hotels nearby. He invites me to share the dinner they are preparing. I am humbled by their kindness, in such contrast to Frank. Marie-France and Sam own and run a flower shop near downtown, a business they started a couple years ago. Money is tight and the hours are long, but they are enjoying building the business together. Sam asks if Belgians, other than Frank, have been treating me well. He says they have a bad reputation for being aloof and uncaring. I reply that he and Marie-France are the only Belgians I have met so far, and that they are just the opposite.
So what could have been an awful and disheartening situation turned out to be wonderful and heart-expanding. I hug each of them as I say goodnight and thank them for their kindness, and under my breath, I thank Frank for being such an asshole. I locate a cheap hotel a few blocks away and have a warm shower before bed. Sam’s smiling face stays with me. I feel ashamed that I first looked at him in a lustful, selfish way. Now, as I slide under the sheets, I see him as I should have seen him from the start – in a lustful, loving way.
PHOTO 1: north of Breda
PHOTO 2: in Breda
PHOTO 3: border marker between Netherlands and Belgium
PHOTO 4: entering Antwerp
PHOTO 5: downtown Antwerp
PHOTO 6: train station and tourist office
PHOTO 7: Antwerp in the rain
PHOTO 8: Duerne
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